


Five Times Clint Ends Up Naked on a Mission (And One Time Phil Does)

by coffeejunkii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Clint Barton Feels, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nudity, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, aww clint no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: What it says on the tin: naked Clint, exasperated Phil, too many feelings all around!
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Comments: 34
Kudos: 223





	Five Times Clint Ends Up Naked on a Mission (And One Time Phil Does)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by [this Tumblr post](https://coffeejunkii.tumblr.com/post/636013204302135296/avengerscompound-clint-who-needs-clothes-barton) of various Clint comic panels in which he ends up naked in all possible situations.
> 
> Many thanks for Rurounihime for cheering me on!

**1\. Carnival in Rio**

“Sir, Agent Barton has been arrested for public indecency.”

Phil thinks he misheard. There is loud music vibrating through the walls of the van, after all. He turns to face the agent who just climbed through the door. “Repeat that, Michaels.”

“Agent Barton has been arrested for public indecency.”

Phil tears his gaze away from the monitors with surveillance feeds and mutes his comm. “Details?” Barton often improvises during ops—something Phil has come to appreciate—but public indecency is a new one.

“Agent Chen did not elaborate, but he asks if he should break cover to get Agent Barton out of jail.” Michaels shifts one foot to another. It’s his first serious mission and he hasn’t shaken the jitters that come with that; Phil is pleased that Michael’s work hasn’t suffered because of it.

“No. Let’s see if we can avoid that.” Chen thinks quickly on his feet and should be able to resolve the situation. “And tell him to bring Barton straight here, not the safehouse. I’d like to do the debrief asap.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Phil turns his comm back on. On a monitor, he catches sight of Romanoff winding her way through the carnival crowds, moving away from the targeted SUV. “Widow, status report.”

“Bugs are in place. Moving to exfil.”

“Understood.” Finally. They’d been trying to get close to that SUV for the last few hours, but it was better guarded than they expected. “Beta team, we’re getting ready to move out. We should be wheels up in two hours.”

Phil gets confirmation and check-ins from various agents. The op is headed towards a smooth wrap-up.

Michaels approaches again. “Sir, Agent Chen is requesting assistance. It seems like whoever is in charge of Agent Barton’s arrest is determined to follow through on it. Something about ‘American tourists think they own the place’ and 'actions have consequences.’”

Phil sighs. “Tell Chen to drop it and makes his way to his hotel. No need to burn a good cover over this.” Chen laid the foundation for the whole op, and the connections he made could be useful in the future. “I’ll take care of this myself. We should be clear from here on out so monitor the exfil. I’ll meet you at the Quinjet.”

Michaels straightens. “Yes, sir.”

**

It takes Phil three phone calls and seven minutes of face time with the police chief to negotiate Barton’s release. Not exactly a personal best, but acceptable, especially considering that SHIELD’s name never had to be evoked.

An officer leads him down a row of cells. In the last one, Barton is sprawled loose-limbed on a bench, utterly naked but covered in copious amounts of glitter. Phil’s eyes linger for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary to ascertain his agent is in good health.

“Time to go, Clint.” Phil can see the pause caused by his use of Barton’s given name. 

Barton sits upright, relief on his face. Some of the relief is exaggerated to maintain his “dumb tourist in trouble” cover, but there’s something genuine underneath. “Hey, Phil.” He stands and walks over to the door, which the officer unlocks.

Phil keeps his gaze at eye-level. “I brought you some clothes.” He hands over a set of standard SHIELD sweats. The one without the logo, naturally.

“Thanks. I was getting a little chilly in there.” 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Phil watches Clint get dressed. Only Clint could make body glitter that appealing. Which is a professional observation that Phil will add to Clint’s undercover dossier.

They make it out of the precinct without further delays and catch a taxi to the safehouse.

Traffic is slow due to the celebrations all over the city. “We’ll do a full debrief later, but give me the abbreviated version now.”

Clint’s shoulders slump. “Am I in trouble?”

Even though Barton has been with SHIELD for a long time now, there are still moments when he fears the worst. Phil’s heart twists in an odd thump. “No, I was just curious.” 

“Oh, okay. I thought maybe—nevermind. Umm. Nat was having some trouble getting close to the SUV, so we needed a distraction.”

“And you landed on ‘running naked through a parade watched by thousands of people’?”

Clint scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah? It seemed low-risk, quick to implement, and didn’t endanger any other agent. Seemed like a win-win.”

Phil once again admires Clint’s quick and strategic thinking. “That makes sense.”

Clint brightens. “Didn’t expect anyone would arrest me, though. I mean, it’s carnival, right? People are bound to do some dumb shit.”

“It was merely bad luck.” 

Clint shrugs. “Yeah, except I’m pretty much a magnet for bad luck. Though usually more off the clock than on.”

Phil has heard some of Clint’s stories from what happens during his downtime and he previously thought they were exaggerated for comedic effect, but perhaps he misjudged that. “How did you find the glitter?”

“Oh, there was this group of young women, and they offered to share. Figured I might as well go all in.”

Phil smiles. He can easily see why these women were interested in helping Clint out. “Indeed, Barton, indeed.”

Clint returns the smile. “Did it help? My diversion?”

Phil probably should have led with that, but he had admittedly been a little distracted by Clint’s glitter-covered self. “Yes. Romanoff was able to install the bugs and make a clean getaway.”

Genuine relief washes over Clint’s face. “Good. ‘m glad I could be useful.”

“You’re always useful. And more than that, your diversion turned out to be mission-critical, and I will be sure to note that in report.”

Clint ducks his head. “Thanks, Coulson. You’re the best.”

Phil’s heart twists again, reminding him that his feelings for Barton have exceeded professional appreciation for quite some time.

**2\. Thor**

“Sorry, boss, dunno how this happened.” Clint gestures down at his very naked self.

Phil casts his eyes skyward. They stand in a clearing in a Norwegian forest on a lovely summer evening. Yet, Phil’s head feels like a group of trolls is digging for buried treasures in his brain. “Take me through the whole thing. Step by step.”

“Thor suggested—”

Phil holds up his hand. “Say no more.” When Phil agreed to be the Avengers’ handler, he thought he was prepared. What a naïve thought in retrospect.

“There’s one more thing.” Clint slowly turns around to reveal a fluffy bunny tail that gently swishes back and forth.

Phil nearly swallows his tongue. 

“On the upside, it shouldn’t be permanent.”

“Shouldn’t be?” Phil croaks.

“Thor was almost completely certain.”

The trolls in Phil’s brain have switched to hammering. “That’s encouraging.”

Clint grins. “I kinda dig it.” The tail swishes faster.

Phil covers his eyes with one hand and slowly counts to ten.

**3\. Undercover at a Strip Club**

Clint barges into Phil’s office with barely a knock. “I was just down in requisitions for Operation Magic Mike and they gave me these—“ Clint turns around in glittery purple hot pants, “which are cool, but what do you think of these?” Clint pushes down the hot pants to reveal a purple G-string.

Phil takes a deep breath. “They look fine.” He’s proud that his voice doesn’t waver.

“Yeah?” Clint looks down at himself. “I was thinking maybe these would look better.” He unfurls another G-string from the palm of his hand and holds it up against his hips. Before Phil can share his opinion, Clint adds, “Wait, I don’t think you can tell this way.” He yanks down the purple G-string. “Not like you haven’t seen it all before, right?” He winks, and pulls on the second option.

Phil politely looks away during the change. Mostly. 

“So?” Clint spreads his arms and does a 360 turn.

This version is even smaller than the first, and Phil is impressed that Clint’s _everything_ isn’t spilling out at the first sign of movement. The light blue color complements Clint’s skin tone.

Phil clears his throat. “Yes. This one.”

“Right?” Clint grins. “That’s what I thought, too. Now I just gotta work on my moves.” 

Phil prays that he doesn’t have to sign off on those.

**

He does not, but over the next month, seemingly endless requisition forms for more hot pants, G-strings, and assorted other outfits come across his desk. Phil tries very hard not to picture Clint in any of them. 

One month turns into two, and per SHIELD regs, Phil is obligated to do a site visit to ensure that the undercover agent is well-acclimated and not in any danger. 

On a rainy Tuesday evening, Phil drives out to an industrial area in New Jersey with an increasing amount of trepidation. 

Despite the questionable exterior, the interior of the club is almost tasteful, and more importantly, clean and well-kept.

Phil finds a table, orders a seltzer with lime, and waits for the show to start. Clint is the third dancer, and clearly the crowd’s favorite. His moves are impressive, his muscles even more so, and dollar bills rain down onto the stage at a steady clip. 

When Clint is upside down on the pole, his back to the audience, and legs slowly opening into a v, the side of his G-string rips, leaving the wisp of fabric hanging precariously over half of Clint’s hip. 

Clint finishes the move and twists around the pole before landing on his feet. The G-string is long gone, lost to centrifugal forces, and the crowd goes wild. It takes Clint a second to notice that he is indeed naked, and then cups a hand over himself with a bashful shrug. Wolf whistles echo through the room. 

Clint takes a bow and collects the bills left on the stage. As he makes his way back stage, he winks at Phil, who up until that moment considered himself safely undiscovered, but he should have known better. Clint has earned the name Hawkeye, after all. 

A few minutes later, Clint reappears, now dressed—if one can call it that—in black velvet hot pants. He stops at a few tables to flirt and chat before weaving his way over to Phil. 

“Hi there, gorgeous,” he says. He swings a leg over Phil’s, and lowers himself until he’s almost sitting in Phil’s lap. “Care for a private dance?”

Phil’s cheeks feel hot. Clint is all muscle and warm skin, not to mention the half-lidded gaze that seems to pick up on all of Phil’s thoughts. “Not tonight, I’m afraid.”

“Pity.” Clint’s hands run down Phil’s lapels. He leans close, cheek brushing against Phil’s. He whispers, “Meet me out back after my shift ends.”

Phil nods.

Clint pulls away, and with a last flirtatious glance, turns toward the next table.

Phil discreetly adjusts himself. 

**

An hour later, Phil meets Clint behind the building. It’s still raining, so they have to huddle under Phil’s umbrella. 

“Guess you picked the right night to come see the show,” Clint says.

“Do these…wardrobe malfunctions happen often?”

Clint huffs. “More often than you’d think. I mean, sure, I put all my gear through its paces, but I swear that stripper clothes are badly made on purpose so that you need to keep buying more.” 

All the requisition forms make much more sense now. “Everything going well otherwise?”

“I’m making some progress. These fuckers are suspicious to the point of paranoia, but they’re finally buying into the ‘dumb blond’ act, so I should have some real intel soon.”

Too many people have underestimated Clint over the years, and Phil knows that a few more will be added to that list in the near future. “Excellent work, Barton.”

Clint ducks his head. “Thanks.”

“If things ever get too dicey or uncomfortable in any way, don’t hesitate to request an extraction.” Phil knows that Clint knows this, but Clint is also dedicated to his work and aware of how important this op is, so it seems important to restate that Clint still has rights and options.

A soft smile plays around Clint’s lips. “I know. ‘m fine.”

“Good.”

They fall silent. For a minute, they stand together in the rain, close enough to feel the warmth emanating from each other’s bodies. Phil wants—wants to make sure Clint is safe and will stay safe, and just _wants_ Clint. 

“I should go,” Clint says. “Still have one more routine to do this evening.”

“Hopefully, it will go off without further fabric-related incidents.”

Clint smiles. “Ah, but the tips are so much better then.” Softly, he adds, “Thanks for coming to check on me. Y’know, personally. You could’ve sent a baby agent.”

“Never where your well-being is concerned.” That slipped out before Phil had any chance to hold it back.

Clint bites his lip. “Oh. Okay. Thanks again. I gotta…” He gestures toward the backdoor. 

“Of course. See you soon.”

With a nod, Clint dashes out into the rain.

Phil stays until Clint has made it inside.

**4\. Chemicals**

“Status report!” Phil barks into his comm. Fifteen minutes ago, Clint took a dive into a vat of unknown chemicals while saving the lives of four other agents. Phil’s nerves are frayed.

“Agent Barton has been transported to the Med Quinjet. It’s unclear what his diagnosis is, but he’s awake and in stable condition.”

“Thanks, Michaels.” Phil takes a deep breath. Thank fucking god they decided to bring a Medjet on this mission. There are still some final skirmishes happening at the perimeter of the underground chemical weapons factory, but Phil decides it’s not a violation of his professional duties to delegate the wrap-up. “Agent Chen, I’m relocating to the Medject to monitor Barton’s condition. I’ll be on my comm, but you’ll be in charge.”

“Understood, sir.”

**

Phil halts on the threshold to the exam room on the Medjet. Clint sits on the table, head bowed and fingers curled tight around the edge. He’s naked aside from a small band of fabric draped over his lap. His skin looks splotchy and red. 

As Phil made his way to the exam room, Dr. Alvarez gave him an update: Clint wasn’t in any danger aside from an intense case of skin irritation. A decontamination shower next to the vat prevented any serious consequences from the chemicals, and a team had already retrieved Clint’s tac suit for further analysis.

Phil wants to offer comfort, but knows he can’t. Any touch would likely enhance Clint’s misery. “How are you holding up?”

Clint lifts his head. “Want to claw my skin off, but fine otherwise.”

Dr. Alvarez adds, “The itch should wear off in a few days. Until then, you can apply a numbing salve every four hours. I also recommend avoiding contact with fabrics as much as possible.”

Clint waggles his eyebrows. “That can be arranged.”

Trust Clint to find humor in the situation. Phil is relieved that the consequences from Clint’s latest selfless act won’t be long-term.

“Agent Barton, we’ll get you home on the first transport. I’d feel better if someone was with you for the next few days in case there are some unexpected side effects. You’re also welcome to stay at HQ Medical.”

“No way,” Clint replies without hesitation. “I’m sure I’ll be fine on my own.”

Before Dr. Alvarez can reply, Phil says, “Agent Barton can stay at my place.”

Clint’s eyes widen. “You don’t need to do that. Don’t wanna impose on your downtime.”

Phil holds Clint’s gaze. He lets a little bit of Phil bleed into his Agent Coulson tone. “It’s not an imposition.” He’s been letting down his guard more and more around Clint in the last few months, and he likes to think that they’re friends. Work friends, at least.

“If you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure.”

Clint’s shoulders relax. “Okay. That’d be really nice. Thanks.”

Dr. Alvarez makes a note on her StarkPad. “Good. Agent Coulson, we can add you to the same transport.”

“Let me check in with Agent Chen, but I don’t foresee any problems with that.” Phil receives a nod of gratitude from Clint. Phil nods back.

It’s the right thing to do even if it means a few days of Clint wandering around Phil’s apartment in the nude and needing help with the salve application. Phil ignores the little flip-flop in his stomach and focuses on the matter at hand: keeping his best agent comfortable and in good care. There’s been physical contact between them over the years, but it’s mostly been limited to carrying each other to safety or dressing wounds. Phil remembers two enthusiastic hugs from Clint: one when his first promotion came through, and the other when Phil gifted him with custom trick arrows for his birthday last year. Aside from that, there are friendly shoulder claps and nods. Sometimes Phil wonders if it’s a result of professionalism or a tacit agreement that if they got more comfortable with each other, they’d cross a line that can’t be uncrossed. 

**5\. Hypothermia**

The knock on the cabin door jolts Phil to his feet. Clint’s tracker went offline thirty minutes ago. While Phil told himself over and over again that it must have been a simple malfunction, relief rushes through him.

He opens the door. An icy gale hits his face, and a whip of snow stings his cheeks. Clint stumbles over the threshold, swaying on his feet. Phil shoulders the door closed. A first look reveals that Clint is drenched from head to toe. His eyebrows are dotted with ice crystals. “What happened?”

Clint tries to answer, but is shivering too hard.

“You need to get out of these clothes.” Phil starts undoing the clasps on Clint’s tac suit. Phil wonders where his jacket went. Clint tries to help, but his fingers are too stiff. Phil stills his hands. “Let me. I got it.” 

He works as quick as he can, but not as fast as he’d like. Damn all the fastenings and zippers on Clint’s suit, not to mention the lacing on his boots. After long minutes, Phil is finally down to the thin thermals that are supposed to be waterproof-- _guaranteed, Agent Coulson!_ \--and even those are wet. Phil peels them off Clint. In another scenario, peeling flimsy clothes off of Clint may hold some appeal, but in this case, worry spikes through Phil at the light blue tint to Clint’s skin. 

Clint sways again, and Phil steadies him. “Come on, I lit a fire.” Thank goodness that this safehouse comes with a fireplace.

Phil settles Clint on the rug and wraps a heavy wood blanket around him. “I’ll be right back.” Clint lets out a protesting noise. “One minute, I promise.”

Phil sprints to the bathroom and flicks on the old water heater. It’ll take thirty minutes to heat up a tub full of water. He also picks up a towel.

Back in the main room, Phil kneels down in front of Clint. He works the towel over Clint’s hair and face. “How are your hands?”

“S-stiff. Hurt.”

Phil sets the towel aside. “Let me see.” He takes a hold of Clint’s fingers, which feel like blocks of ice. He rubs gentle circles over them. Clint hisses. “It’ll be better in a minute.” Phil notices that Clint is still shivering despite the room being warm enough to have sweat bead on Phil’s forehead.

“Still feeling cold?” Phil asks.

Clint nods.

Phil weighs his options. There are about twenty minutes left until the water will be hot. He could hope that Clint’s core temperature will steadily improve just by sitting next to the fire. Or he could take some more active measures.

Phil has always been a man of action. 

He stands and strips down to his boxers. It concerns him that Clint doesn’t seem to notice. Not that Phil expects Clint to take note of him, but under normal circumstances, Clint would have a quip at the ready. 

Phil sits in front of Clint. “I need you to come a little closer so we can get you warmed up.”

Clint slowly opens his blanket. “’kay. Tired.”

Phil shuffles closer. “I know. Here, unfold your legs.” 

It takes a few minutes because Clint’s coordination is shot, but they manage to drape Clint’s legs over Phil’s and crisscross them behind his back. They’re almost flush against one another, and Phil feels the air between their bodies heating up. Phil reaches for Clint’s hands and presses them against his chest. They still feel frozen. Phil would be more worried if he didn’t see Clint bend them a minute ago. They were clearly stiff and hard to move, but Phil hopes there won’t be any lingering damage. “Lean against me.” 

Clint slumps forward, his hands trapped between their chests. Clint’s head comes to rest on Phil’s shoulder. 

Phil runs his hand up and down Clint’s back, careful not to dislodge the blanket. After a few minutes, Clint’s shivers recede. “Better?”

Clint lets out a sigh. 

“Good.”

Clint further buries against Phil. The tip of his nose feels cold. “At least this time you don’t have to rub goo all over me every four hours.”

“Happy to have done it,” Phil mumbles. The salve application wasn’t the biggest challenge of those three days. It was Clint’s blissed-out expression after the salve’s effects kicked in, which made Phil wonder if Clint made a similar face during other exhilarating physical activities, and the subsequent dead-to-the-world naps that left Clint sprawled across Phil’s couch or bed, relaxed and utterly gorgeous. Then there was also the moment the skin irritation subsided and they both fell into an exhausted sleep. They woke up curled together, which they laughed off, but Phil at least has returned to that memory more than once.

When Clint’s fingers wiggle against Phil’s chest and his calves flex against Phil’s ass, Phil is shaken out of his thoughts. Both movements are good signs. “What happened on the way here?”

“Y’know that brook that’s down the hill from the cabin? That seemed frozen solid?”

“Yes.”

“Turns out it wasn’t frozen. And deeper than we thought. Crashed through the ice. Took me a good five minutes to work my way out. Lost my jacket. Then getting up the hill in the storm was a pain.”

Phil can only imagine. That’s how Clint’s tracker shorted out. He closes his eyes and squashes down the various what-ifs. What if the current had been stronger and dragged Clint under? What if Clint had hit his head? “Glad you made it.”

“Fuck, me too. But I got the shot, right? That’s the most important thing.”

Phil’s hand tightens against Clint’s back. “Important, yes. Most important? No.”

“Aww, boss, don’t go all sentimental on me.”

“Clint—“ Phil halts, not even sure what he was going to say. 

Clint turns his face into Phil’s neck. “I know,” he says softly.

Phil slides his hand up to Clint’s nape, settling there. Clint’s hand tightens and releases against Phil’s chest.

They should probably talk about this at some point. This—these feelings. Which Phil assumes are mutual. He’s not completely imperceptive despite what Jasper says. But it seems easier to carry on like this, with yet another non-overt acknowledgment of how much they mean to each other.

**+1**

“Hey, sorry it took me forever!” Clint kicks the hotel room door shut with his foot, careful not to drop the two drinks and bag of pastries in his hands. “The Starbucks in the lobby was a madhouse, so I went to the one three blocks—“

Clint stops, caught off-guard by Phil lounging on the bed naked, a Santa hat on his head and a branch of mistletoe draped over his dick. Over the last two months, Clint has learned that Phil has a mischievous side both in bed and outside of it, of which Clint enthusiastically approves. 

“Hi.” Phil almost makes that sound dirty.

Clint sets down his drinks and pastries. “Uh, is the op officially over then?” He takes off his jacket and toes off his shoes.

“As of thirty minutes ago, yes.”

Also as in just about the time when Phil asked Clint to make a Starbucks run for them. Just enough time for Phil to take a shower and get into position. “I see. Time until extraction?”

“About twenty-eight hours.”

Clint smiles. “Well, that’s very convenient, considering that we are in this nice hotel and all.” 

“Hmm, exactly my thought.” Phil folds his hands behind his head. 

“Nice mistletoe.” Clint drags his sweater over his head and undoes the button and zipper on his jeans. 

“Isn’t it? I’m sure no one will notice that the wreath in the lobby isn’t quite as plush as before.”

Clint laughs. He shimmies out of his jeans. “Now, there’s a certain tradition involving mistletoe…”

“I’m aware.” 

Clint takes off his T-shirt and drops it on top of his jeans. “Would be a shame not to uphold it.”

“Very much so.” 

As Clint slowly slides his briefs down, he’s aware of Phil’s gaze on him. He loves it when Phil looks at him like that, with reverence and want. 

Clint walks over to the bed, and half-kneels on the edge. He leans close to Phil, cradling the side of his head. “Hey.”

Phil looks at him with fondness. Clint fucking loves that look, as if Clint was something rare and precious. He isn’t sure anyone has looked at him like this before. “Hi,” Phil says again, soft and low.

Clint kisses Phil—slow, so very slow—and revels in the way Phil moves with him. Clint draws a hand down Phil’s chest and stomach. “I’m going to interpret the whole ‘kiss under the mistletoe’ very literally.”

“No objections.”

Clint straddles Phil’s legs and bends down. He nudges the mistletoe half an inch to the side and kisses the very top of Phil’s cock. There’s an intake of breath above Clint. Pleased, Clint brings his tongue into play. He earns a low groan for that. 

For the next few minutes, Clint keeps his focus on the same small patch of skin, mouthing and licking over it, until Phil’s cock fills enough to dislodge the mistletoe. Clint flings it to the other side of the bed because he’d rather not accidentally swallow one of the berries. 

Phil’s hand winds into Clint’s hair. “Please.”

A thrill shoots through Clint. He never expected stoic Agent Coulson to plead—and cajole and beg—for anything, but Phil has no problem with it. “I got you,” Clint promises, and takes Phil all the way down. 

Phil gasps. He squirms as Clint works him over, legs trapped by Clint’s thighs.

Clint takes mercy on him and moves between Phil’s legs. It gives him more room to explore and tease, anyway. 

When Phil is reduced to short, breathy moans, Clint holds out his hand. A tube of lube slaps into his palm. Fuck, he loves it when they work together like that. 

Phil takes two fingers with ease, pushing down on them as Clint slides open-mouthed kisses down the side of his cock. He looks up at Phil, notes the closed eyes and the flush that steals over his cheeks and down his neck and knows it won’t take long now.

“C’mon, babe.” Clint twists his fingers. Phil’s thighs tremble against his shoulders. Clint sucks Phil all the way down again, and that’s it, Phil’s hand tightens in Clint’s hair as he tenses up and comes. 

Clint eases Phil down with soft kisses to the inside of his thigh, his hip, and the middle of his chest. The Santa hat is askew, and Clint pushes it all the way off, thumb tracing through the cowlicks at Phil’s hairline.

Clint smiles at the blissful expression on Phil’s face. He loves seeing Phil like that, relaxed and happy. Because of Clint. Because of how well they fit together. He can’t help nuzzling Phil’s neck.

“Tickles,” Phil mumbles.

“I know.” How amazing is it that Clint knows that about Phil? “Was that the kiss under the mistletoe you were hoping for?”

“Hmm.”

Reducing Phil to a state in which he can’t even form words is one of Clint’s favorite new things. “Glad to hear it.”

Phil’s arms come around Clint, pulling him down. Clint settles against Phil’s chest. They should move soon because stickiness and also their drinks, which Clint thinks would very much hit the spot right now. But he can take five more minutes. Or ten.

**

Clint wakes up alone. “Phil?”

“By the window.”

Clint’s eyes fall on Phil’s silhouette, clearly visible against the glass that stretches from floor to ceiling. “Risky move there, Agent Coulson, putting some of SHIELD’s best assets on display like that.”

Phil looks back over his shoulder. “Hardly. We’re about forty stories up, there are no other buildings nearby, and it’s snowing.”

“There’s snow?” Clint no longer feels sleepy. He untangles the comforter from around his legs and walks over to Phil. Standing behind him, he wraps his arms around Phil’s waist. “Oh wow.”

The snow is coming down hard, big flakes drifting by in waves. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Phil leans back against Clint.

Clint is tempted to say something sappy like ‘not as beautiful as you,’ but instead he hums in agreement and kisses Phil’s shoulder. He closes his eyes, soaking up the calm and comfort of having Phil in his arms, warm and safe. They don’t get much quiet time together like this. “Is it too early to say Merry Christmas to us?”

“Not at all. In some parts of the world, the twenty-fourth is the main day for celebrating Christmas, after all. And I—“ Phil falls silent, then clears his throat. “And I certainly consider it a gift to be here with you right now, like this.”

Clint smiles, feeling stupid with happiness. He turns Phil in his arms so he can see that.

There’s a bashful look on Phil’s face. “That wasn’t too much?”

Clint shakes his head. As he leans in to kiss Phil, he whispers, “No, that was perfect.”


End file.
